It took far too much energy for Colonel Potter to hoist himself onto his top bunk. When he was up, he immediately fell into his mattress and shut his eyes. He was doggone tired. That Ruebel had kept them up all night and well into the morning to clean up the camp. Now all Potter wanted to do was sleep. He didn't even bother to take off his boots. Wouldn't be the first time he had gone to bed with them on.
He felt his bed shake as his roommate got into the lower bunk. The one good thing about being an officer was that the accommodations were slightly better. Instead of being stuck in a common room, with twenty or so other men squished together, Potter only had to share a room- albeit a very tiny room- with one other person. He wasn't sure of his name yet, but there would be plenty of time for that before the war ended.
Though he knew it was his duty, Potter really had no intention of escaping. He'd leave that to the younger fellows. Though he wasn't particularly old, he was still not young enough to be scampering about behind enemy lines.
No, he would sit this one out, trying to cause what trouble he could inside camp, rather than outside. It wasn't cowardice- it was common sense.
Potter shook the nagging thought that it was cowardice out of his head. He had faced danger more times than he could count. This wasn't his first war and it wouldn't be his last. There would be another day to fight.
The door to his room opened and he heard his roommate groan. "What do you want? We cleaned up the stupid camp; let us sleep!"
"Colonel Potter?"
Potter groaned and opened one eye, looking at the guard in the doorway. "So they tell me."
"Come."
Potter yawned. "Where?"
"Colonel Ruebel wants to see you."
Potter rolled his eyes but hopped down from his bunk and followed the guard out. What did Ruebel want? He hadn't personally met the Kommandant yet; maybe he wanted to give his duties as the camp's medical officer. From what he had gathered while cleaning, the only other medical personnel in camp was a medic- a young Lieutenant who had a record for trying to escape and spent more time in the cooler than the infirmary.
"This way," his escort said as they made their way out of the prisoner's compound and towards the Kommandant's office. In the outer office, an old, ugly secretary was typing away. She looked up when Potter and his guard came in and nodded.
The guard pushed the door to the Kommandant's office open and moved aside for Potter. When he entered, Potter was met by not only by Ruebel, but two other Germans- another officer and an enlisted man, Potter judged. Ruebel said something to the guard, who nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
"Colonel Potter?" Ruebel asked.
"Kommandant."
"These gentlemen are here for you."
Potter eyed them suspiciously. "What do they want me for?"
"That is something they have not even told me," Ruebel sneered. He turned to the other men and said something in German. They nodded and moved towards Potter. It was then he noticed that the enlisted man had a gun out. Potter was about to raise his hands when he saw the gun was not pointed at him, but Ruebel.
"What's going on here? I've heard of being marched out at gun point but I thought it was supposed to be aimed at the prisoner!"
"Captain Keller arrived without the proper paperwork to take you. He had to use other methods to obtain my permission for your release," Ruebel explained, glaring at the officer. He said something in German and the other officer nodded.
"Danke, Herr Kommandant," Captain Keller said, pulling out a gun and aiming it at Potter. "Corporal." The other man nodded and lifted his gun up. It came crashing down on Ruebel, who collapsed on the ground in a heap. With a tiny grunt, his assailant dragged him to the corner of the room.
"What is going-"
"Quiet," Keller ordered. "I'll explain later."
Potter blinked in surprise. The man didn't have a trace of a German accent. In fact, it was a very American accent. What was going on?!
Potter didn't have time to question. Keller opened the door and strolled out. He said something to the secretary, who simply nodded and went back to her typing. The corporal came up behind Potter and ushered him out. Once outside, Keller made his way to a truck and hopped in the driver's seat. The corporal steered Potter to the back of the truck.
Suddenly, the corporal stiffened and muttered something under his breath. Potter followed his gaze to a staff car that was pulling up to the camp.
"Get in," the corporal hissed, pushing Potter towards the bed of the truck. Potter stumbled forward but caught himself and stood his ground.
"Look, someone had better explain what is-"
"Now… sir," the corporal said, holding his gun up to Potter's face.
Potter was half-tempted to cry out to get the camp's attention. Better the devil he knew, after all. But the gun quickly changed his mind and he carefully raised his hands. "Easy with that thing, son. No need to get excited; I'm getting into the truck now."
"Good thinking." The corporal cast a glance at the staff car, which had just pulled up behind them, and jumped into the bed of the truck ahead of Potter. Potter reached his hand up and the corporal grabbed it, pulling him in. Moving to the front, his gun still aimed at Potter, the corporal moved back the flap of canvas separating the truck bed from the cab. "General Burkhalter just arrived, sir."
"Then let's get out of here," Keller growled. The truck shuddered as it started up. The corporal sucked in a breath. It was only after they had passed through the front gates and the camp had disappeared around a corner that he let it out.
"Colonel, how long do you think it'll take them before-"
The corporal was cut off when a siren filled the air.
"Not long," Keller shouted from the front. "Don't worry, we'll be long gone by the time they get organized."
"Sure. But they'll still be looking for us. And I'll bet they'll come to Stalag 13 eventually. That's where-"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Right now, we've gotta get him to Carter."
Colonel Potter, who had been listening the conversation, was growing tired of being left in the dark. "All right, one of you had better fill me in on what's going on. Pronto!"
Letting go of the flap, the corporal turned to Potter and holstered his gun. "Sorry, sir but we had to wait until we got you out."
"Which we are," Potter pointed out.
"Name's Olsen," the corporal said with a grin. "United States Army Air Force."
Potter raised an eyebrow, now even more confused. Why were they coming for him? There was no way he was important enough to warrant a rescue operation. "All right Corporal Olsen, why did you break me out of my hotel?"
"Sergeant Olsen, sir," Olsen corrected. "And we busted you out to-"
Olsen was cut off by the sound of a shot filling the air. The truck suddenly swerved, and Potter heard Keller yell something. Looking out the back, he saw a motorcycle coming up behind them. The guard in the sidecar fired his rifle again. "Olsen!" Keller shouted from the front.
Before Potter could do anything, Olsen tackled him down and let off a shot. Potter squirmed beneath him and peered back at the road. The motorcycle swerved to the side of the road and crashed into the ditch. The guard in the sidecar crawled out from the wreckage and fired his gun again, but the truck was already pulling around another corner.
"You okay, Colonel?" Olsen asked.
"Fine," Potter muttered. "But you ought to warn a man, son, if you're going to-"
"Oh, sorry, not you. Colonel Hogan?"
"Nicked my shoulder," Keller- or Hogan- reported. Potter looked and saw a tear in the canvas that separated them from the driver. "No big deal. The doc all right?"
"Fine," Potter said. "But confused. So unless you want my boot print on your butt, you had better tell me what's going on!"
"We've got a man back at camp that needs your attention," Hogan explained.
"Back at camp? I don't understand. Last I checked, our boys were stalled in France. You going to drive me all the way there?"
"Stalag 13, Colonel," Olsen explained. "We're prisoners there."
"Prisoners?" Potter repeated, looking the young man over. "Things have sure changed since dubya-dubya one!"
Olsen chuckled. "Yes sir." Turning his attention to the front, he pulled back the canvas and let out a whistle. "Schultz is going to have a bird, Colonel!" he said, pointing to the bit of blood splattered on the window shield.
"It'll come out. Listen, we'll hide the truck near camp, get the doctor in and then go back for Schultz."
"You think there are more following us?"
"Probably," Hogan said. Suddenly, he made a hard turn to the right, causing Olsen and Potter to lose balance and fall. "Shortcut," Hogan explained.
"I'm still confused," Potter said as he brushed himself off and got back to his feet. "You're prisoners at another camp and you got me out because there's a prisoner that's sick? Why didn't you just-"
"It's a long story, Colonel," Olsen said apologetically.
Again, Potter looked Olsen over. This man, apparently a fellow POW, had just busted him out of one camp only to smuggle him into another camp? He turned to look at Hogan in the front of the German truck. His shoulder was bleeding a bit, but he didn't even seem to notice, instead focussing on the road with a grim look of determination.
Turning back to Olsen, Potter raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet it is."
